


For Want of Extra-Effective Aspirin

by beanarie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sterek if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gets even Derekier with Stiles after that wiccan chick from Carmel "curses" him with telepathy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want of Extra-Effective Aspirin

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt-fic for the lovely [T](http://onlyonechoice.livejournal.com/). She asked for Sterek + telepathy.
> 
> Warning: Deals with Derek's canon love of casual violence.

Derek gets even Derekier with Stiles after that wiccan chick from Carmel "curses" him with telepathy. Rougher with his hands, more terse, more in desperate need of Social Skills 101. One time Stiles comes upon Scott talking to Derek and he can swear Derek bounces out of the room the second Stiles comes in. 

"Don't look to me for enlightenment or whatever," Scott says. "He's gotten a little weirder with everybody in different ways."

"Well, did he match-make _your_ head and a wall? 'Cause he did that to me."

Scott makes an awww face and touches the back of Stiles's head, the light brush of his fingers silently conveying, _Yeah, I remember that. So not cool._ and _We're all grateful your genetics gifted you with a super hard cranium. You've sure needed it this past year._ He laughs as Stiles punches him in the arm. "Mostly with me, he's just... uh. Like he's been snorting for no reason a lot? Plus sometimes he won't say anything for a long time and he'll just shake his head at me."

Because Scott is a _goober_ , whose thoughts only amplify the gooberness already made evident by his stupid face and the dumbass things he says. This is actually not surprising at all. Stiles barks out a laugh that he smothers by biting the cuff of his hoodie. 

"What, can you read minds now, too?" Scott asks, pretending to be hurt. He's shitty at it, of course, his eyes are twinkling and he's got his lips smushed together to prevent them from springing into a smile.

"No, I-" Once or twice, while running stumbling and terrified for his life, while coming across eviscerated husks that used to be people he knew, Stiles may have regretted being friends with Scott. But Scott hasn't changed _that_ much. Even though he's not the same species anymore really, he's still the guy, he's still Stiles's guy. "Can we get wasted tonight? It just feels like a damn good idea."

Scott can't, because they're doing a charity thing at the vet's tomorrow. Once a month, they spay and neuter area cats and dogs for free. Not only is it tons of fun for the pets, people start lining up at six am. A week later, though, while Scott's mom is working a double shift, there is booze and the second-hand Wii Scott bought on Ebay, which equals several hours of drunken Mario Kart. Drunken on his part. Only moderately tipsy on Scott's. Boyd is there, too, loose and amused, and Stiles keeps throwing his arm around Boyd's neck and saying, "You. You guys. Are my favorite wolves. You're awesome." 

At some point he starts referring to them as howlers, which is the single greatest thing he's ever come up with, and he laughs until he does one of those vomit-burps and has to concentrate on getting the taste out of his mouth. Between that and keeping the controller in his hand, he's having trouble not sliding off the couch.

"Dude, you are so trashed," Scott says, grinning his face off.

Someone always has to say that at times like these. Why is that, contractual obligation? Stiles points a finger toward Scott's nose. "Goober," he says carefully. Boyd bursts out laughing.

Soon after that he registers the sound of Scott's ring-tone and the heartfelt mutter of "Ohhh, crap." Then there's harried talk of imminent parent-return.

Next thing he knows, he's being manhandled more than he'd like to be by anyone who isn't five-four with strawberry blonde hair. As he's dropped into a seat in a car that does not belong to him, Scott is saying, "I'm not sure about this."

"I won't _eat_ him, Scott."

Leaning his head against the window, Stiles muzzily thinks that's good. Nobody likes to get eaten. Even cheeseburgers can't be much of a fan.

Mm, cheeseburgers.

"I'm sorry about the concussion."

Stiles jumps. "What?" This isn't Scott's driveway. The car is parked at the diner around the block from Boyd's house. That's Derek at the wheel, and a whole lot of nothing in the back seat. "I mean, uh, what. Why. What. What's happening right now?"

Derek grips the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. "There was a lot going on and I couldn't focus. I just needed things to quiet down for a second so I could think and get us all out of there."

"Don't worry about it, man. The blinding headaches stopped after a couple day-" Stiles swallows and he flicks at the window. "Weeks. A couple weeks."

"Mine don't," Derek says. "Ever." 

"Oh," Stiles says. Well, crap.

Derek nods tensely. "All I can do is get used to it." He does everything tensely, come to think of it. "And promise that that won't happen again. Thing is, it's harder with you around. Your thoughts are kind of racing all the time."

"Oh... kay?" He should apologize for his ADHD maybe? 

"You should eat something before you pass out for the night," Derek says, gesturing at the diner. "I'll buy you a cheeseburger."

Now how did he know Stiles wants a-

_Because, Stiles. I can read your mind._

Stiles points. "Hahhhh, wise-guy."

Derek's mouth twitches.

Stiles shakes himself. "Wait. You _said_ that in my _head_."

"Told you I've been practicing." Derek's mouth-twitch turns into something normal people would almost consider a smile. "Should be useful, don't you think?"


End file.
